No one of importance in the whole great city of New York, it seemed to Jimmy then, cared to see him or to hear about his big idea. He thought about it that whole Tuesday evening, sitting alone in his little bedroom, with his fists clenched and his face flushed and serious. Two conclusions he reached: one was that he would _not_ tell his business to any telephone girl or clerk; and the other was that he _would_ see somebody big, if he had to keep on trying till doomsday. The next morning he was back at the Wentworth Company offices, smiling cheerfully at the girl he had seen the day before. And every day that week he was there, still asking for “Mr. Wentworth’s secretary, please.” Finally one morning, still protesting that his business was important, and that he could not tell it either to her or to the suggested Mr. Cooper, Jimmy heard the first encouraging words of his whole week of waiting. “Mr. Wentworth’s secretary will see you in a few minutes,” the telephone girl announced. “What’s her name?” “His name is Mr. Leffingwell Hope.” “Thank you very much,” said Jimmy, and sat down on a little bench to wait. In about ten minutes Mr. Leffingwell Hope appeared. He was a man about thirty, two or three inches shorter than Jimmy, and very much more slender of build. He was immaculately dressed; his hair was straight, slightly long, and neatly brushed; his face was thin, pale, and sharp-featured, with gray eyes, and a long, thin nose with a bump on its bridge, giving him a hawk-like expression. Jimmy disliked Mr. Leffingwell Hope the minute he saw him—there was about him something sinister, like a snake. “Are you James Rand?” the secretary began. If Jimmy Rand had disliked Mr. Hope from his appearance, he positively hated him when he heard his voice. It was one of those soft, curiously intoned, effeminate voices; Jimmy had never heard one before. “Damned sissy,” he thought. “Yes,” he answered. He smiled—as friendly a smile as he could muster. The secretary did not smile. He came through the little wooden gate and stood facing Jimmy, who had risen to meet him. Jimmy had decided to tell his idea to Mr. Hope; now that he saw him, he decided he wouldn’t. A sudden despairing courage made him decide at the same instant to see the president himself. It must be possible to work it some way. “I want to see Mr. Wentworth—Mr. Robert G. Wentworth,” said Jimmy firmly. “What do you want to see him about?” Jimmy hesitated. “That’s what I’m going to tell him when I see him,” he said finally. “Mr. Wentworth never sees anybody except by appointment.” “I’m in no hurry,” Jimmy grinned cheerfully; his courage began coming back. This Mr. Leffingwell Hope, after all, didn’t seem so very formidable. “I’ll make an appointment, then.”